Respectable People
by Helena Franklin
Summary: Percy visits an old friend and reflects on his past. Warning: Homosexual Content! Sap ahead!


Title: Respectable People

Author: Leucothoe

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Percy/Oliver, Percy/Penny, Oliver/OC

Rating: PG

Summary: One shot. Percy visits the past and ponders upon his life.

Warning: Homosexual content. If you don't like, don't read.

Disclaimer: Only Andrew and my sap belong to me.

He had dug his grave, now he was going to lie in it.

It was amusing in a morbid sort of way, especially as he walked through the grounds. The cemetery was quiet today. A blanket of snow lay upon the earth and ice shimmered on the tombstones, giving the area an almost ethereal quality. The stillness and purity of the day went unnoticed by a figure slowly making his way up the cobblestone path. A thick cloak was draped over too-thin shoulders, as the cold was unfortunately more difficult to disregard. The man had one thing on his mind, to make his way to the grave by the weeping willow, near the stream that winded its way through the sleepy ground.

For a moment, the man wistfully thought of warm sunlight and grass beneath his feet. When the days were warm, it was easier to imagine that the warmth emanated from within. The grass would return soon enough though. After all, the grass was only sleeping and it returned faithfully every year. It always brought a bittersweet sadness instead of the joy it should have given him. Not even the summer days could wake those which slept deeper in the earth. But listen to him go on, you would think he were Ginny during her twelve year-old poetry phase.

He could see it now. The tombstone was large and smoky-grey, covered with smooth elegant lettering. Percy knew it was smooth, how often had he run his fingers over the letters? Too many times to count. Veering off the path, he approached the grave sheltered by the sagging tree. "Hello, Gabrielle," Percy murmured. Maybe he was crazy for naming the tree, but it made him feel better. The older he became, the more he indulged his moments of childishness. It was strange, to think that he began his life with such stern maturity and went though his days losing it. Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?

Kneeling on the chill ground, he reached up and brushed the snow off the marble. The unfeeling script yet again filled his vision.

Oliver Wood.

November 3 1981 – January 17 2002

He will remain in our hearts

He began as usual, placing his finger over the O and carefully twirling it around the curves. Oliver. Merlin, how he missed Oliver. Just a few feet under him, his love slumbered away the ages. Perhaps if he felt the sun again, the rays would wake him like the flowers? His finger blindly crept over the script as he closed his eyes. He was always closing his eyes against the harsh truth, why stop now? His mind wandered back to a memory of his room in the Gryffindor tower. If he concentrated long enough, he could almost will himself back there. He saw himself hunched over his desk, the quill flying over the parchment as he completed yet another extra-credit assignment. Oliver was lazing on his bed, flipping though an issue of Quidditch Monthly. Although his behavior could be called relaxed, nothing was flippant about his intense absorption in the magazine. It rivaled the attention that Percy gave the parchment as he scrutinized his work for any signs of mistake.

He was so blind. How could he have not seen what was right in front of his nose? They were the only two in their year. He and Oliver should have been friends. Were studying and quidditch so important that it blinded them to all else? They should have been something… more.

Scenes from the past descended upon him. The confusion he felt when showering with the other Gryffindor boys in second year. Secretly sneaking a glance while Oliver changed, watching the muscles in his back ripple like the wave of unease through his body. He was standing in the Hogwarts stands, watching Oliver dart back and forth up high protecting his goalpost. His eyes weren't on the quaffle, or the golden snitch. It was a Scotsman with unruly brown hair that held his gaze. He remembered the last night of Hogwarts, when Oliver had crushed him in his arms and kissed him. He had tasted like chocolate and fresh air, which Percy gulped like a dying man. Oliver had tasted like freedom from his pre-planned, tedious life. He felt Oliver's hands once more cupping his head, running down his back… Then, how he had ripped himself away, eyes wide in horror. How he had sputtered desperate accusations. But most of all, he remembered Oliver's eyes. The shame and grief were reflected as clear as Percy's terror. He had caused that, had caused Oliver's eyes to shine with tears in the firelight in their dorm. He had realized his error in that moment, but he couldn't bring himself to beg for forgiveness. He had made his decision, which also was his mistake. He couldn't go back upon his decision; he never had and wouldn't even know how. A responsible person never went back upon their word.

He had never seen Oliver again. The bludger that had split Oliver's skull and robbed him of life had ensured that. Now it was his eyes that shone with tears. Why couldn't that image ever leave him? Not even firewhisky could dull the pain of that memory, which haunted his nights as he attempted to sleep. He wondered if Oliver dreamed, or if his thoughts were as still as his chest.

Percy had always known he was different. When he reached puberty and girls didn't look any better then before, he knew it keenly. Imagine, what would have happened if he had been honest about his sexuality. His parents… his mother would have cried. His father would have been disappointed. Fred and George would have had a field day, and the ministry would have looked on with disgust and contempt. He wouldn't have been perfect. Maybe he would have been happy.

He had married Penny… what a joke that had been. Standing in the reputable chapel with his lips grimly pressed to her lips, he knew he was making a mistake. He knew it when he knelt on one knee, when he asked Penny out for the first time, and when he lay between her legs and tried to imagine it was Oliver writhing beneath him. Penny was a good wife. She was a respectable wife. That was the problem.

Penny left him, less then a year later. Is that when everything had started breaking down? Perhaps she finally noticed that he had developed an overnight aversion to chocolate. Possibly because he was cold and mechanical during sex, going through the motions like a man under imperious? Maybe she found the newspaper clippings in his desk following the career of Puddlemere's famous keeper. Does it matter?

He recalled the day he picked up the Daily Prophet which held the picture of Oliver walking hand in hand with a dark-haired man. The headline read, "Puddlemere Keeper finds love with American wizard!" Oliver had found love. Oliver moved on while he stayed chained to the past, to a memory of shining brown eyes. The man's name was Andrew. Does it matter?

His finger finally traced through the last letter, the bite of the marble snaking its way through his hand. Awareness descended upon him as he noticed another stream of frosty breath mingle with his. Percy didn't have to turn his head to know who interrupted his melancholy.

"Andrew."

"Percy."

They stayed that way for awhile, side by side, mutely staring at the headstone. Did Oliver feel as cold as he, deep inside the earth? Andrew finally broke the silence.

"Please, stop doing this," he whispered. "You know Oliver wouldn't have wanted you to torture yourself here every week." As usual, Percy didn't reply. Instead he wearily dragged his hands over his burning eyes, trying to smooth the fine lines that had been appearing lately. He remembered first meeting Andrew at the funeral, the man having seen him skulking in the back, away from the crowd. He had recognized Percy's flaming red hair. Apparently, Oliver had told Andrew about him. Every so often Andrew would come here, and try to reason with him. He supposed he was the man's pet project. He could at least get some new lines after four years…

"Percy, I know you loved him. It's written as plainly as your misery. But killing yourself won't bring him back. Oliver cared for you, he always did. If not for yourself, do it for Oliver." Percy gave a bitter smile.

"I lie in this grave as much as Oliver does. It doesn't matter anymore."

Andrew sighed. He was going to try again, Percy knew. Andrew was a good man, not that he would know anything about that. Andrew was truly deserving of Oliver. He would try to save Percy, for Oliver's sake.

"Please Percy. Oliver wouldn't want this. Oliver will always stay in your heart-"

Percy stood up.

"That's just the problem, Andrew. How can Oliver always stay in my heart, if I never let him in to begin with?"

He turned and began the slow walk back to his office, leaving the man kneeling on the cold earth. He gave a silent farewell to Gabrielle. She and Andrew would look after Oliver now. Percy was needed in the ministry, where it felt chiller then the frozen marble and his soaking knees. He had made his decisions, he would live with them. That's what respectable people did, after all.


End file.
